“Land, no, ma’am! She waits on herself, but so quick, you’d think she was a witch!”
“Where is she now?”
“Well, ma’am, she finished her tea, and then she fair scooted up the back stairs. I heard her dart into one or two rooms, and then she took the little South gable room for hers. I could hear her stepping about, putting her things away, I make no doubt. She looked in here again, a minute, and said, ‘I’ve chosen that little room with the lattice wall paper,’ and then she disappeared again. That’s all I know about her. No, ma’am, she don’t trouble me none, and I don’t say I don’t sort o’ take to her. But she’s a queer little piece. She is that.”
Milly sighed. “Every thing’s queer, Hester,” she said, broodingly, and then she went back to the hall.
Wynne Landon sat there alone. His face was grave, and he sighed deeply as his wife came to him and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Where’s everybody, Wynnsie?” she said cheerily.
“Traipsing over the house, hunting clues! Rotten business, Milly.”
“Why? What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I hope if that man is going to find the criminal, he’ll make short work of it!”
“So do I, dear, then we can go home, can’t we?”